


poets are just as responsible for empire building as any other professional hack

by alittleduck



Category: MASH (TV), Stardust (2007), Stardust - Neil Gaiman
Genre: F/M, M/M, mom its MY turn to write hawk/beej magical realism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26017786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittleduck/pseuds/alittleduck
Summary: In Village, a boy named BJ sets out to prove his love to a girl name Peg. In Stormhold, a King dies. In the Lands, witches are growing old and dying. And then, in the sky, a star falls.or, have you ever wondered what MASH would be like if, instead of a seventies war dramady, it was a three part experimental magical realism piece loosely based off the concept behind the novel stardust by neil gaimen?
Relationships: B. J. Hunnicutt/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Comments: 11
Kudos: 20





	poets are just as responsible for empire building as any other professional hack

**Author's Note:**

> there are some pretty heavy changes i've made to the stardust mythology and also story in general so you fully need no familiarity to enjoy this and also even if you are familiar there may be a few twists in there for those of you who have read/seen this early 2000s masterpiece

**i. your heart's desire; or the consequence of too much exposition**

BJ, like his father, was a dull, plain looking sort of boy. He had the same flat straw hair and the same gangling body his father had had in his youth. His limbs held the sort of unfinished look that nineteen year old boys tended to hold and his features were similarly unremarkable. But there was something about the boy. Maybe, some would suggest, a curve to his ear or a way his straw colored hair caught the light and seemed almost white or maybe the point of his chin. They could never point it out in a picture or explain it properly, but everyone could tell: there was something strange -- something Californian, they would say in a voice of disdain disguised jealousy -- in the features of this unremarkable half farmboy, half shop keeper. And this made the people of Village wary, the way strangeness did. 

In Wall, strangeness had a way of creeping in the cracks bearing curses. It was always better to be on guard for it. There was nothing the people of Wall valued more than routine and order. Without routine, things fell apart. 

It hadn’t bothered BJ much when he was young because in Wall, it was often thought the children touched by faery folk were blessed in life. But as he grew and the touch didn’t fade, the wariness grew. BJ, to his credit, barely let himself notice this. Unlike most teenage boys, BJ had an unnaturally observant air to him. Adults would often look at him and wonder why he was so still or so quiet. His mother worried that he would never find the right girl to settle down with. His father did not know how to talk to him, for when his father had been BJ’s age, his father had been out sewing his wild oats with women and fae -- but this, his father had not told anyone about. He wondered if it was he fault and so to compensate would sit by BJ’s bed at night and tell him epic stories of romance, weave him stories of perfectly behaved princesses and the quiet, sturdy heroes who swept them off their feet by being simple and true. 

Though BJ loved these stories as a child, as he grew up he began to grow away from them. No longer interested in these stories and sick of the stares, BJ Hunnicutt became more concerned with stealing furtive glances at Peg Forrester than anything else. Peg was widely held by most, but by none more ardently than BJ, to be the most beautiful girl in all of Wall. She was nineteen, like him, and had yet to find a husband — no longer as unusual as it once was but still. It stood out. Perhaps only because everything Peg did stood out or perhaps because it, too, was governed by forces beyond the Wall. She, like BJ, was a step out of touch in Wall and he fell in love with her for it. 

BJ himself had never been outside of Wall, not that there was much reason to leave without the Market. The Market was there only once every nine years. When BJ was ten, he was too young (or so his parents claimed, even though they let Marie go, who was nine, a source of many fights from then until now). 

Now, though, BJ was nineteen and determined to see the world outside of Wall at this year’s market.

His mother said this was another of his moods and she would not allow it. BJ experienced fit and moods that, from time to time, would take him; and the normally easy-going and curious boy, would fall into a dreamy stupor, lying in his room and creating little tiny dolls in the likeness of his family, expressions twisted or contorted, limbs displaced it doubled around. It was how the world seemed to BJ at times -- a strange and misshapen lump of clay that he did not or could not match. He would try harder, after these moods, to mold himself into the same clay of this world, to contort himself around and into the right places. 

To fit into this world, BJ knew he had to go outside of Wall to the Market. He was the oldest person in Village who had never been to the Market. 

However, the night before the Market, Peg dropped by the store where he clerked. 

“BJ,” she greeted him, for Peg had never found cause to be wary of the remarkably unremarkable boy. She handed him her list. 

He’d greeted her and begged a walk home with her after he’d gotten all of her groceries and half way there he’d pulled her laughingly off to the side. 

“Would you permit me a kiss?” He asked. 

She laughed, close mouthed, shaking her head. “BJ,” she whispered, “you know better!”

“I can’t help it,” he told her grandly, leaning back to take in her body. “You are the most beautiful girl in all of Wall. In all of New England. In all of the world, I’d wager.”

Peg denied it, but BJ could see her blush in the dark. 

“No,” he leaned in nervously, “you are. I would —“ he paused, thinking. “I would travel to the highest mountain and bring you back the peak. I would scour the oceans for it’s deepest held treasure. I would fight off tigers and bring you back their heads, to show you you’re beautiful.”

“I hope,” Peg told him coyly, brushing a curl behind her ear, “that you find me more beautiful than the severed head of a tiger.”

BJ grinned at her. “Nah,” he said. “Not quite.”

Laughing, Peg leaned in and hit him. “BJ! That’s not how —“ but with a gasp, she cut herself off. Unable to help herself, she reached forward and grabbed BJ’s wrist. “Look! A shooting star!”

BJ looked down at their hands instead. “I’d get that for you, you know.”

“What?” Peg asked, finally looking away from the sky. 

“If it would prove my love, I would go as far as I needed to and bring you back that star.”

“Oh you would, would you?”

“And,” BJ teased, though something inside of him was completely serious, “what would you give me in return?”

“In return?” She leaned forward. BJ’s breath caught in his throat. “For a fallen star? I would give you whatever your heart desired.”

And even though BJ longed for nothing more than to close the distance between them, press his lips against her kind, inviting mouth, he pulled back. He stood up, pulling Peg to her feet with him. “Then,” He said, not letting go of her hand, “a fallen star you shall have.”

Peg gave a half laugh, looking confused. “BJ?” She asked. 

“I love you, Peg Victoria Forrester. And if you give me time, I will come back to you with a fallen star in return for my heart’s desire.”

“BJ,” she protested, “I was kidding.”

“A month,” he pleaded. “Give me a month.”

“I —“ she protested, looking at their linked hands. “Okay. And,” she added, “you may kiss my cheek once before you go. For luck.”

“I already have all the luck I need,” he told her but leaned in to kiss her anyway. It was cold in the night but soft and warm beneath her lips. 

This, BJ felt certain, would work. He would come back with the stardust, marry Peg Forrester and become real. He looked at his hand, flickering in and out of the cloudy, moonlit sky. 

* * *

  
**ii. advice from unexpected places; or, what comes next** ****

He set out on the day of the Market, with all the gold pieces he had in possession (1) and a small glass flower his father had told him to take with him if ever he was to leave Wall. BJ had shrugged and said  _ whatever _ at the time, but now, packing to leave Wall, he thought of his father with a pang and grabbed the glass flower. 

He walked through the Market without intending to stop but his eye was drawn instead to a simple wooden booth manned by an old lady and bird, golden chain tying it to its cage. But that wasn’t what caught BJ’s attention. Instead, it was the sight of small, glass blown flowers, the same as his own. Cautiously, he wandered over. There was a strange gleam in the old lady’s eye, but her bird squawked loudly, distracting BJ. 

“Shut up you!” The old lady scowled. “I used to have such good help, you know. But good help is hard to find and now all I’ve got is this useless animal.”

BJ smiled uneasily. He shifted his sack of his shoulder. “Hey, listen, would you be able to —“

As he opened his sack to pull out the flower, three things happened at once. One, the bird squawked even more violently this time, flinging itself against the cage and forcing BJ’s head up away from the bag. Two, the old lady leaned forward and her eyes widened as she reached for the glass flower. Three, a young looking wild sort of animal bumped into him, sending BJ, the old lady and the table behind the tumbling to the ground. 

“Sorry, Sorry,” BJ interjected immediately, trying to help the old lady. She brushed him off, cursing and cussing, flower forgotten. 

BJ was the first to his feet. “Do you want any -“

“Do I want some clumsy simp stealing my wares? If you think I’m some kind of fool, you can just stuff it!” the woman snapped. 

BJ flinched. “I’m really sorry —“

“Pst!” BJ looked down. The small wild looking creature from before was beckoning him. BJ took a slow step forward. When the creature nodded vigorously, he took several more. 

“Come on, idiot!” The beast whispered and scampered off. 

“No, no,” BJ tried to explain, “I have to ask her something.” The creature didn’t stop or slow down to listen. BJ gave up and followed. Panting, the two of them soon reached the edge of woods. 

“I recognized ya,” the beast told him in lieu of hello.

“No, I’m sorry,” BJ said, wishing he could spend a smaller percentage of his time outside of Wall apologizing to the faery folk. “You must be mistaken. I’ve never seen you in my life.”

The creature peered close. “Nei,” it said. “It’s definitely you. You’re the spittin’ image of your father, ain’t ya?”

BJ stiffened. “Ah — that’s what people say, yeah. Why?”

“He did me a good turn or two, back in the day.”

“He — what?”

“Mind, he didn’t ask as many stupid questions. It was more, sure you can stay in my house for free. Mind the horses. Breakfasts at seven if you want it. Rot like that.”

“I — what?”

“Your dad,” the creature replied. “Good host. Good man. I promised I’d keep an eye out if you ever wandered in the market. So. A bargain’s a bargain and here we are.”

“What?” BJ asked again. 

BJ couldn’t really make out any discernible facial features, but he’d bet his life that the creature was giving him some sort of unimpressed look. 

“Now, I’ve done my looking out, so that’s it for me, but I’ll tell you this: don’t mess with Dishwasher Burns. She’s a bitter one, and she’s got a knack for unusual punishments. Your father got a good little charm or two off her in his day and she don’t … forget …” it trailed off, looking at the trees around them. BJ took a step back. 

“We didn’t enter the forest, did we?” He asked, confused. 

“No.” The creature said shortly. “It’s me, I should’ve been paying attention. See, my wife’s usually the one who's good for that -- I’m good for picking out the clothes and picking up the mood, but she’s the one who's from here, you know.”

“Right,” BJ agreed and smiled. 

The creature took a long sniff of the air. “And these aren’t no trees.”

“What?” BJ asked. The creature rolled their eyes. 

“I thought we were past that,” they said but nonetheless went on to explain as the trees seemed to grow closer and darker around them. “Thems Fens. Fake trees. If you know the true path, you can get through ‘em. They won’t try and stop anyone who knows that. But I wasn’t paying much attention and …” he trailed off again and shrugged. 

BJ opened his mouth to probably say something along the lines of ‘what’ again, but instead, he raised his hand and pointed through the large green firs in front of him and said, “there.”

The creature didn’t argue and immediately leapt after BJ’s finger, the tree's branches and vines recoiling before he could touch them. BJ followed quickly, shoving up against the creature. 

Finally, panting, chest heaving, the creature stopped his mad run. “We’re free of ‘em. How’d you know that kid?”

BJ shrugged. “I don’t know. But that’s the direction of the star. I know it. I didn’t know it until you said anything, though.”

“Right. Okay, so where’s Wall, then?”

“I don’t know,” BJ said automatically. He spun around, suddenly filled with certainty. “There!” He shouted. 

“I’ll take it on faith,” the creature told BJ, grumbling. “Can’t much tell directions myself. Tell me, you ever seen a Fae before?”

BJ shook his head. 

“And your dad? He really your dad? ‘Cause I thought my dad was my dad, but there was a bet and a hot dog and a princess and a war -- and really, that’s another story.”

Hot dog? BJ thought but didn’t ask. Instead, BJ nodded. 

“Mom, too?”

BJ nodded. 

The creature sniffed. “Wouldn’t be too sure about those answers myself,” he told BJ. “You got Fae magic in you somehow.”

“I -“ But the creature just waved BJ off, ambling further down the path. They walked side by side for the next several miles until it was dark.

The strange creature seemed to — ripple or something. At first, it looked like nothing was happening. But after a few seconds, some sort of sack seemed to be produced. 

“I don’t like being in debt,” the creature said, holding the sack out. “I was in debt to your dad, took care of that. But I don’t reckon I wanna spend the rest of my days keeping an eye out for you or your brethren. So I’m going to give you something better. What are you looking for?”

BJ didn’t hesitate in replying. “I’m looking for my heart’s desire.”

The creature stared at him blankly. 

“The star that fell last night to win the hand and heart of my true love Peg Forrester,” BJ clarified proudly. “Here, do you want to see a picture? She’s the most beautiful woman in all of Village and --

“That’s just about the stupidest thing I ever heard,” they said. “A quest for love, huh? Those never work out the way you expect, but they are the only kind worth going on. I think I got something for you.” The creature rummaged around in his sack, occasionally pausing to make a considering noise or grunt. “Here,” he said eventually, pulling a small candle nub. “Babylon Candle. Think about where you want to go. Then walk. It’s got a few puffs in there. Enough to get you to your star and back. And I’ll give you a warnin’, for free. Lots of folks are looking for the star too. Always are. It’s dangerous business.”

BJ shrugged. “It’s true love,” he said.

“Only thing dumber than love is true love,” the creature told him with what BJ hoped was a smile, “but you’re really to get a star, you’ll need this also.” The creature gave him a gold plated chain. BJ gave the creature a confused look. “It’s to bind the star. Trust me, stars are wily, tricky bastards. Never met a star that couldn’t talk the ear off a rock. And this one’s not free. You’ll owe me, when time comes. Always nice to have a favor in a back pocket.” 

And, much in the same way he arrived, the creature scurried off, low to the ground and almost invisible. 

“Bye?” BJ called after him uncertainly. 

The creature stopped. “Try again,” they advised. 

“Bye,” BJ told him firmly, smiling. The creature smiled back, saluted him and left. BJ took a deep breath, and put the match to the candle, closed his eyes, thought about the star and stepped forward. 

* * *

  
  


**iii. a fallen star, or several unexpected things roughen the course of BJ’s path to true love**

BJ opened his eyes, candle still burning. He was in a crater. He tried to take another step, but didn’t go any further. The star, he figured, must be here somewhere. And then his ears picked out the sounds of sniffling and grunts. 

“Fuck!” he heard. His eyebrows shot up. He was here with … a boy? a crying boy? “Hello?” He called out. The snuffling stopped. 

There was a strange sort of rustling sound and then a rock thunked against the side of BJ’s face. “Go away!”

“Hey!” BJ objected. Another rock came out of nowhere. “Ow!” BJ took a step forward. The boy -- the man? the teenager?, he could now see, was completely naked. The second thing he could see was the other guy clutching another rock. 

“Wait!” BJ cried. The stranger staid his arm. 

“Go away!” The naked stranger repeated. “I’ve just taken a terrible fall and my tukkas hurts terribly bad and I’m afraid I’m just terribly desperate to be left alone!”

“I will, I will,” BJ promised. “I’m sorry about your -- well. I’m sorry. It’s just — and I hate to bother you, but --I’m looking for a star. A fallen star. Have you seen it? It fell somewhere over here.”

The boy laughed bitterly. “Yes, I’ve seen the star. Who hasn’t?” 

BJ didn’t know how to respond to that. Instead, something else occurred to him. “Why are you naked?”

The boy scowled. “We don’t wear clothing,” he sniffed. “Or maybe you caught me around bath time, did you ever think about that? Maybe I was getting ready to take a nice long soak in a big wet tub and then you come bounding around with your stupid necklaces and --” 

“Oh!” BJ bounced, excited. “Are you a Fae?”

The guy just looked at him like he was an idiot. 

“Do you want some clothes? Hey!” He said excitedly as an idea occurred to him. “If I give you some clothes, will you help me look for my star?”

“ _ Your _ star?” The boy asked scornfully. 

“Yeah, my star,” BJ said, sticking out his chin. “As much as it can really belong to anyone, I suppose. It’s just a bit of rock or dust, after all. I need it for — well. They’ll be time to explain later. You’re very rude for a naked boy I found in a crater crying.”

“I wasn’t crying,” the boy protested, hands flying up to his damp eyes defensively. “And I know I’m still young for the great big lumps in the sky but I’m not a child -- and I’m definitely not a  _ boy _ .”

“Look, the sooner I find my star, the sooner I’ll be able to help you. Or leave you alone. Whatever you need. Can you please just show me where the star landed?” BJ rummaged through his backpack, looking for his extra pants and hoodie. He tossed them over to the boy, letting him get dressed. 

“I can’t,” he grunted. 

“What?” BJ asked. 

“I broke my leg,” the boy explained, slowly, as if he thought BJ was some sort of moron. “When I fell. From the sky. Last night. It’s a long way to fall, you know. From all the way up there.”

“You fell from the sky last night?” BJ asked, perking up again. “Did you see where the star fell?”

“Yes,” the boy said, sharply. 

“Where?” BJ asked, eagerly. 

“Probably somewhere in this giant crater,” the boy replied, dryly. “Possibly even right here, in the center, landing so hard he or she broke some bones in their body.”

He let this sink in. BJ’s eyes twitched around the crater, putting the pieces together. “ _ You’re _ the star?” he noticed for the first time that in addition to being half nude and dangerously pale, the boy was also giving off some sort of incredibly faint light. 

“Now he gets it,” the boy was saying but before he could finish, BJ was leaping forward and grabbing his arm.

“Stay here,” BJ told the boy seriously, who looked taken aback. 

“As opposed to what? Going for a quick dip?” the star asked sarcastically, recovering himself. “Where the hell do you think I’m going to -- hey! Oh no -- Oh no you don’t --” 

BJ reached in his bag and pulled out the chain. Immediately, the star started unsuccessfully trying to hobble away. 

“Sorry about this,” BJ was saying, as he snapped the chain into place around the star’s wrist, “I didn’t expect — a boy, I guess. But it’s for love. Do you understand love?”

The boy sniffed. “I watch you humans do stupid things for love all the time. It seems like a stupid waste. You know, we stars sit up there all along for centuries --” 

“Centuries?” BJ asked. 

“Okay, fine, not centuries. It’s been a few decades. I’m a new star,” the star said. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

“And you sit up there all alone?” Something in BJ’s heart clenched in sympathy. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” the star said. “Don’t give me that sad look. It’s much better than you humans -- running around with all those emotions and lives and losing your mind and falling in love --”

“Oh.” BJ smiled. “Then you don’t understand. But it doesn’t matter. I’ve got to bring you back to my beloved in return for her hand.”

The boy was back to scowling. “In case you’ve forgotten, idiot, I can’t walk.” BJ shrugged. 

“I’ll make you a splint.”

“Do you seriously think I’m walking anywhere with the strange man who enslaved me?” BJ felt a pang at that, but remember the warmth of his lips against Peg’s cheeks and pushed his discomfort down. 

“And is helping you,” he pointed out. “Look,” he pleaded. “It’s only temporary. We walk back to Wall and I show you to Peggy and then I’ll help you get back into the sky, okay?” 

“Fuck you,” was the star’s response. 

“Look, I’m really sorry and I don’t normally do this sort of thing, but it’s for Love,” and even the boy could hear the capital, “okay, and you kind of don’t have any other choice.”

“Fuck you,” the star repeated, but with a heavy sigh. “You’ll help me get back into the sky?” He asked. “Really? Because a lot of people say that and then BOOM I’m on a table and they’re trying to eat my heart for eternal youth --”

“Oh my God,” BJ said, horrified. 

“Don’t eat my heart,” the star said. 

“I wouldn’t,” BJ said. “I’m not even a heart-breaker. Let alone a heart-eater.” BJ frowned when the star didn’t laugh. It wasn’t as if he was the funniest person alive but -- 

“Okay,” the star said. “I permit you to make me a splint for my leg. We’ll talk about the rest after.”

BJ got to work on making the splint. 

* * *

“Look,” BJ apologized for the umpteenth time to glowering, limping star, “If you met her, you would understand. Peg — Peg is the most beautiful, kindest, prettiest -“

“That’s the same as beautiful,” the star mumbled. 

“No, it’s not. For example: that flower is pretty. It looks nice, fits in with the surroundings and, at the same time stands out with how well and perfectly it fits. You, on the other hand, have an ethereal sort of beautiful to your uncomfortably pale face — you’re beautiful because of how you  _ don’t _ fit in.”

BJ noticed that the star’s cheeks were red but whether due to his words or the exhausting costs of travel, he couldn’t be sure. Still, he continued, delighted. “Do stars blush? Are you blushing? Have  _ I _ made you blush?”

“With — with anger!” the star bit out. “With the fury of a thousand suns --”

“How do you even know what a sun looks like?” BJ asked. 

“I read,” the star retorts. 

“There are books in the sky?” 

The star looks at the ground. “No,” he admits. “But you know, that doesn’t even matter. I see, okay, I know -- I know what the sun is like and it’s an angry beast and anyway I wasn’t --”

“Weren't blushing?” BJ asked. “Aw,” he said. “Do the girl stars not call you beautiful?” BJ batted his eyelashes. “You’re beautiful to me,” he said dramatically and the star shoved him, laughing. 

“Stuff it,” the star said. “If I’d known you humans were like this, I wouldn’t have spent so long dreaming about joining you.” But he was smiling and his face was bright and BJ thought it was maybe possible he didn’t mean it. “And anyway,” the star went on, “if what you say is true, how can she be both pretty and beautiful?”

BJ sighed. He shrugged. “Love,” he said. 

“I hope you choke on it,” the star told him but BJ didn’t hear a word. 

* * *

“What’s your name anyway, Star?” BJ asked. 

“Fuck you,” the star replied. 

* * *

“Look, we’ve got to keep going, it’s only noon -“

“Only noon?” The star interrupted him hysterically. “You do know  _ stars _ sleep during the day, right?”

BJ tapped the chain patiently. “Peg’s only given me a month,” he pointed out to the star. 

“Peg, Peg, Peg,” the star repeated. “I’d wish that Peg were dead if it meant you’d stop saying her name.”

* * *

“Are you hungry?” He asked, an hour or two later, guilt over his actions warring against his frustration with the star’s continued hostility. Why didn’t he see that BJ was just trying to help both of them? “Do stars even eat?”

“Fuck you,” the star said, but it sounded weaker this time, a little softer and less vicious. “Of course we eat. We’re alive, aren’t we? God, are you naturally this dumb or are you making a special effort just for me?”

BJ takes everything back, the star is still an asshole. “Well, I’m starving. Let’s take a break for some food.”

“I have an idea,” the star said hopefully, “you leave me here, I sleep, you eat, I don’t have to see your face again.”

“It’s a win-win,” BJ agreed easily, to the star’s evident surprise. “What?” He asked. “Did you really think I’d miss your charming company?”

The star went red and petulantly crossed his arms. “You’re a horrible human being. You’re just — wretched.”

BJ laughed. “Wretched?”

The star pressed his lips together. “Yes,” he snapped. “Wretched. People in this world say it a lot.”

BJ snorted. “Yeah, if you’re forty.” As he was talking, BJ took the golden chain off his arm and looping it around the tree. He saw the star trying to hide his disappointment and felt his smile fade. He didn’t know why it hurt him to see the star looking for every opportunity to escape. 

Obviously, the star would be trying to escape. The star hated him. And BJ didn't feel too kindly towards the star himself at the moment, no matter how beautiful he did look or how nice it felt when they forgot where they were and that they didn’t like each other and just sat laughing together. They were just -- this was just a temporary, mutually beneficial arrangement. 

* * *

“You know,” he said, again, on the third day, “this really would be much easier if I got your name.”

There was a heavy pause. Finally: “Hawkeye,” the star mumbled. 

“Nice to meet you Hawkeye. I’m BJ.” BJ held out his hand, which Hawkeye completely ignored. 

“I know that, asshole. You’re name’s BJ and you’re in love with Peg Forrester the most beautiful blah blah blah.”

BJ pretended he didn’t hear Hawkeye’s response. “You know,” he said, “I think this is going to bring us to a whole new level in our relationship.”

“Fuck you,” Hawkeye mumbled, almost automatically at this point. 

“You know,” BJ said, day unbearably brightening for some reason, “the more you say that, the less effective it gets.”

Hawkeye flipped him off. BJ just laughed. 

“I think you’re growing on me,” he told Hawkeye. 

“Yeah, well, no.”

“Good one. Really witty, Hawkeye.”

“Stop saying that!”

“What, your name?”

“Yes. My name. If you keep saying  _ my  _ name --”

“Hawkeye —“

“I hate you,” Hawkeye said. “Really, truly, I think humanity was a waste. I think the spirits in the sky should just scrap this whole experiment --”

“It’s your name, Hawkeye.”

“Do you ever shut up?”

“Why? Can’t keep up?”

“Hardly,” Hawkeye scoffed. “I always get the last word.”

“Just admit it, Hawkeye, you can’t keep up with my superior wit.”

Hawkeye groaned. “You aren’t funny,” Hawkeye told him. “We aren’t growing on each other.” He was smiling, though. BJ let him have the last word, choosing instead to lean sideways into Hawkeye. 

  
  


* * *

Tying the chain up at night always made BJ’s stomach twist and writhe with guilt. At first, Hawkeye had glared at him or complained and whined and insulted BJ the entire time but now he’d started to look away, to try to pretend it wasn’t happening. It just made BJ feel worse. He laid awake all night that night. Was he doing the right thing? Hawkeye was a person. Hawkeye didn’t deserve to be dragged half way across the world before going home --

“Stop thinking,” Hawkeye said from beside him. “It’s giving me a headache.” 

“Hawkeye,” BJ whispered. “I -- I don’t really need to take you to Wall. I can just --” 

“Shut up and go to sleep,” Hawkeye told him. 

BJ was silent because he didn’t want to argue because maybe his own guilt was worth sacrificing if it meant he could make Peggy happy and because he really didn’t want to say goodbye to Hawkeye yet. 

“Thanks,” BJ told him, clearing his throat. 

“If you are going to make me sleep at night,” Hawkeye said in response. “Could you at least have the decency to actually let me do it?” 

BJ squeezed Hawkeye’s leg and felt Hawkeye stiffen and then shake a big against him. He wondered if stars got hugs. He didn’t think so, which was a shame, because Hawkeye was probably the most touchy-feely person he knew. BJ rolled onto his side and, after tentatively looking around the empty forest floor, pulled his body around Hawkeye’s and held him. 

Cheek pressed again Hawkeye’s shoulder, BJ could hear his heart ricochetting back and forth. The heart of a star must beat faster than the heart of a human. Hawkeye was tense and coiled at first, breath ratting around unpleseantly in his chest. But BJ held him still and gently stroked the back of his neck until he felt Hawkeye start to relax. 

He woke in the morning with Hawkeye draped all over him, sound asleep. 

* * *

  
  


**iiia. Interlude; or a symbolic fight inserted in the middle to set up the plot**

Nearby the two boys who were just starting to get on, there was a fight in a mostly empty field. It was not between them but between a unicorn and lion.

It was unclear how the fight had started but it was clear that the fight had been going on for a long time and the unicorn was close to losing its strength. The two crashed through the branches to where BJ and Hawkeye were lying, wrapped around each other, waking both with a start. 

Faraway memories of nursery rhymes bounced against BJ’s skull and words tumbled unintentionally from his lips. 

_The lion and the unicorn_   
_Were fighting for the crown_   
_The lion beat the unicorn_   
_All around the town._

_Some gave them white bread,_   
_And some gave them brown;_   
_Some gave them plum cake_   
_and drummed them out of town._

_And when he had beat him out,_   
_He beat him in again;_   
_He beat him three times over,_   
_His power to maintain._

“How the hell did you hear that?” Hawkeye asked. 

“Nusery rhyme,” BJ shrugged. 

“No, really,” Hawkeye said. “I mean that was -- you know, of all the things I liked about you all most, it was the poems.” 

BJ was surprised. “Me too,” he said slowly. “I didn’t -- I mean, people in Village don’t really like poetry. It’s not really a human thing -- or it isn’t anymore. I don’t know. Village is small and I don’t know if there’s --” 

“Watch out!” Hawkeye yelled and shoved BJ as BJ finished with “others”. 

The two animals slammed between where BJ had been, once, briefly, the unicorns hooves flying, lion claws flashing. It was finished before it could even start. The lion limped away, slowly while the unicorn watched. He turned sideways, the unicorn did, red splash that was startlingly against his white coat already starting to fade. 

Hawkeye’s mouth twitched like he wanted to say something. Instead, he held out his hand and closed his eyes and began to glow. Within seconds, the unicorn was by his side, nuzzling his hand. 

He opened his eyes and turned to BJ. “I have an idea,” he said. BJ smiled. 

“Nice. It’s about time you started contributing something other than a bad attitude on a surprisingly beautiful face.”

This time, he was sure it was his words that made Hawkeye blush such a deep stark red. Something inside his chest loosened and he swung himself up on the horse easily, well practiced from his life as a farmhand, offering his arm to Hawkeye. Cautiously, Hawkeye took his hand. BJ smiled. 

Hawkeye scowled and pulled his hand away, as soon as he could. “It’s either this or be dragged along by this goddamn chain,” he pointed out. 

“Worried you enjoy it?” BJ teased. 

“Worried you’d enjoy it,” Hawkeye retorted. “You know, I don’t normally like to criticize, but if that’s something you think I enjoyed, then strap in for a list. First --”

BJ, still grinning, raised his eyebrows and kicked the unicorn forward. She started with a jolt and Hawkeye went flying into BJ’s shoulders, cursing, but gripping BJ’s sides for dear life while BJ just laughed. 

* * *

  
  
  
**iv. wicked witches are so easily tricked; or an interruption of a much higher and much more dangerous order**

For as long as anyone could remember, the witches had ruled Faery. Sure, there was Stormhold but the kings were weak. Humans, who had learned to live by the rules of Faery. The witches were the Fae. But time had stretched poorly in Faery and more humans poured in and now the witches were old and you could see their white hair, their diminished stature, their limps and their bumps. No longer were the witches young but no longer was the land. And no longer was the land supple with magic and spirits. 

For longer back than even Margaret could remember, the land had been divided into Faery and the Wall. The only place the two had ever touched was at the Market. The world, in those days, flowed easy and rich with magic. But the centuries passed and now the Market is held once every nine years and the magic mere parlor tricks to what they once were. 

Now Margaret’s back was bent and her knees creaked. But she had found hope. She called her sisters to her to explain: “A star, at last, has fallen.”

Biglowe was the first to react, rubbing her hands together eagerly. “A fallen star? After all this time?”

“Are you sure?” Helen asked. 

Margaret nodded carefully. “Where’s Radar?” She asked. 

“He’s off seducing mortals,” Helen explained. 

Biglowe hit Helen. “He’s meeting with the Power of Stormhold. We’re hoping for — I don’t know,” Biglowe admitted. “They have the power now. And they know it. So Radar’s over there, being impressive.”

“He is the oldest of us,” Margaret agreed. No one knew how long Radar had been around. They didn’t like to ask. He had been a part of another coven but Margaret hadn’t met any other witch covens ever. It was another thing she didn’t ask Radar about. Radar protected them. Radar brought them together. Radar could remember the time when the land was more than Faery and Wall. And that was enough for Margaret. 

“What should we do?” Helen asked, nervous. 

“I’ll go,” Margaret said. “Let me have the last of the dust of the first tree and I will go into Faery and bring back the heart of a star for us.”

With Margaret’s words, a light seemed to creep around the edges of the room. 

“This is a blessing. It must be. The land wants to bring the magic back.”

“If you do this,” Biglowe told her while looking at Helen, “Radar can come back. Radar can live among us again. He will no longer have to debase herself, sell his powers, our powers, to the humans.”

“We can go to the Market again. Peddle power, not common wares like any other hedge witch.”

“We can live again,” Chris said from her corner, unmoving. Her voice was a croak that echoed. She would die soon, without a star to feast upon. 

Margaret nodded. 

“Should we all go?”

“No.” Margaret shook her head. “There isn’t enough magic left for all of us.”

“Then why you?” Helen challenged. Helen was not the leader of the coven but wanted to be. She had been the last one to join, only agreeing to live with them during the last two centuries.

“I will go,” Margaret said simply. “I am the coven leader.” She knew what Helen was thinking: it should be Radar. But Radar was too much of magic to lead — to much a piece of Faery itself. As the magic of the land drained, as the world of man pushed farther and father into Faery, so Radar drifted. The most powerful, yes, but no longer. Radar waned as Faery waned and Margaret feared the day would soon come when Faery would fade and Radar would fade with it. The two wouldn’t survive each other, this much she knew. 

It was sad seeing one once so strong so weakened but perhaps worse to be one so strong made weak; and perhaps that was why Radar lived more in the world of men than Faery anymore or perhaps he was just doing as he always did, following the magic. Perhaps he would return to them and bring salvation. But Margaret did not like to rely on the salvation of others. 

“I will go,” she repeated firmly. “I am the leader of the coven and for you, my sisters, I will go and find the star and bring us back his heart.”

And the sisters nodded and it was decided. Margaret packed up her belongings, drank the last of the stardust they still had and started to plan. 

The sun fell as Margaret walked. Her steps were clear, precise, short. In no great length of time, she arrived at the crater of the star. Empty. Someone had already been there. She pulled the air in through her lungs and flung the runes. 

They thudded onto the ground at once. Margaret opened her eyes. 

A stone. Death. A horse. A turn. Love. 

She smiled. 

A star’s heart was best taken when they were happy, raw and beating with radiant joy. Shine brightly enough and Margaret could see it from here. 

She did not know the way, but she remembered how to find the path. It had been one of the first things Radar had taught her — how to find the path in Faery. And Margaret did this now, reaching through the magic. 

She felt ripples of joy and lust and happiness mingled with pain and exhaustion and confusion. It would be easy, this star. They all were, in the end. They were too distant in the sky and the world was too bright and too real. All it had taken to kill last star was breakfast, shared over a fire. Waffles, if she remembered correctly. Something the star had always wanted to try. Margaret had cried but they had survived and the world had survived.

Simple was better. 

She knew where the star was. And she knew it was in pain. So now, she needed a plan. 

* * *

  
**v. Next interruption: fire and brimstone and kings; or salvation; or destruction;**

Charles Emerson Winchester III had four brothers left alive. 

And in the coming weeks, that number would shrink to none. It must, or Charles Emerson Winchester III would be joining his brothers in death. 

Charles Emerson Winchester III ordered a horse and carriage and set off for the east. His brothers had set off after the direction of the falling star, but Charles Emerson Winchester III knew better. He would visit the witch-lady who lived on the coasts and sold them magic. 

She would want the star. He only wanted the rock that hit the star. Only the Power of Stormhold. The witch-lady of the coast could have her star. With this in mind, he set off. 

The witch-lady greeted him at the door, grey hair long and matted. It made Charles Emerson Winchester III’s skin crawl. He took a seat. 

She offered him tea, which he refused. 

“I’m looking for the star,” he explained. “It fell some days ago. If you show me the path to him, I can bring him back to you. You can be young again.”

The witch-lady looked briefly happy. It would not make me young again, she did not say. She did not say it, but still Charles Emerson Winchester III heard it echo around the room, the witch-lady’s mouth unmoving. 

_ Charles Emerson Winchester III _ , the voice echoed dispassionately, _ the Lands are dying _ .

“The Lands?” Charles Emerson Winchester III asked. 

_ How soon you forget.  _

The walls seemed to cry with the witch-lady, water sliding down their waxy peeling paper. 

“Witch-lady,” Charles Emerson Winchester III said, frightened. “You have helped us before. Sold us your wares and your magic. Help me now. I am after the Power of Stormhold. If you help me now, I will not forget it.”

_ I am eternal, no one said. I am forever. You are temporary.  _

Everything in Charles Emerson Winchester III wanted to flee but he made himself rest. “Please,” he said, having nothing else to say. 

The witch-lady nodded.  _ Very well _ . She waved a hand and a path glimmered before Charles Emerson Winchester III. He left quickly, hands stuffed in his pockets to hide their shaking as they jerked him and his horses down the newly revealed path and was grateful when nothing more was said. 

Half way down the path, he would stumble across a boy and, in a move surprising to himself and the boy, he would stop. But that would be later and now Charles Emerson Winchester III was shaking astride the royal carriage, utterly alone in a world alien to him. 

* * *

**vi. a last, plot; or Hawkeye takes the wheel**

BJ had gotten used to leaving Hawkeye tied to a tree while he went into nearby towns and villages. Partially, it was because he thought that Hawkeye had been starting to glow really brightly lately and he didn’t want anyone to try to hurt him. Partially it was because Hawkeye seemed to enjoy being tied to the tree. Hawkeye still complained about sleeping in the day and walking at night and BJ knew that his leg, despite the constant jokes, really did bother him. It was healing well but not as nicely as BJ would have liked. He almost wished his father had been a doctor or that he’d known more on how to help, but he didn’t so BJ did what he could. 

He’d even started inventing errands to run in villages so he could let Hawkeye rest. It was strange, the spot that had seemed to have taken up a permanent residence in his chest and was concerned only with Hawkeye’s safety. He re-splinted Hawkeye’s leg every morning and even let Hawkeye lean against him as they walked which satisfied the core in his chest that ached when he thought about Peggy. Hawkeye was colder than BJ expected, but solid. 

If BJ was quick and lucky, BJ would be able to get back before Hawkeye woke up and he could watch him, peaceful, lying against the tree. Hawkeye’s glow was so gentle when he was sleeping that BJ would sometimes pretend that it was the nighttime and he was a traveler, trying to get home and he only had to look at Hawkeye to find the way. 

So BJ had left Hawkeye. But BJ forgot he was from Village and he was beyond Wall and that rules worked differently here. He’d forgotten about the unicorn, who still seemed content to let them ride him for now. He’d left the unicorn grazing by Hawkeye, hoping it wouldn’t leave and as he crested the hill without seeing the white flank, his heart began to sink. It would be harder for Hawkeye if they had to walk. 

Hawkeye, on the other hand, has, as soon as BJ left and ignoring the twinge of guilt in his toes, had not forgotten about the unicorn. He whispered words to the creature, who then brought his horn down to slip the loosely knotted end of the golden chain off the tree. Hawkeye looked down, terrified, at the chain that still pulled against his wrist. A golden chain isn’t something easy to slip -- not even for a star, not even for a star with a unicorn. But it was easy enough to separate a golden chain from a tree. If BJ had been smart, he would’ve stuck Hawkeye to himself but BJ didn’t know yet how things worked outside of Village. 

As soon as he was free of the tree, he patted the unicorn twice and set off in search of seven stones. The unicorn had trotted off into the forest, leaving Hawkeye to search for his stones alone. He didn’t need seven, exactly, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember exactly what Trapper had said he needed. Fuck, he should’ve listen to Trapper more. 

And Hawkeye wasn’t stupid. He knew there were people looking to find him and eat his heart and all that. He watched the earth at night, okay, he knew what it’s inhabitants were like. And he sure when he was a younger star, a new star, he’d want nothing more than to join them. But he saw how they hurt each other and killed each other and destroyed each other over the years and was certain he knew enough to know that he’d rather cut off his own leg than live here alone another minute. So. He had to make a Babylon Candle. 

Which meant seven stones and a river, maybe, and some other stuff Hawkeye had been scrambling to remember this entire time. 

It was then that he heard the crinkling behind him in the woods. Oh, fuck, he thought to himself and froze. BJ’s back. But when he turned around, heart stuck somewhere between his chest and his cheeks — painstakingly slowly — there was no one there. 

Just the trees. Rustling in the breeze. Weird. Hawkeye hadn’t realized the forest was that dense. 

Hawkeye took a step back, nervously. He wasn’t regretting running away from BJ, per say, but he was maybe regretting being alone in the forest. Just for now, though. Just at this particular moment. He took another --

_ crunch _

Hawkeye whirled around the other way but was only greeted by a low hanging branch. 

“Hey, assholes,” he told the air. “What do you want?”

The air, predictably, did not reply, which didn’t make Hawkeye feel at all better. He started speaking to himself, nervously. Being a star in the sky was a space filled with silences, constantly, always, especially after his mom had Fallen. Trapper had Fallen too, but he’d climbed his way back into a new place in the sky, where Hawkeye could only see him once a year when the earth was tilted just right. 

He’d find a tree, Hawkeye thought, babbling the words he would’ve said to his mother or Trapper, if they’d been here. Trying to drown out his own thoughts. Put his back to a tree. Yes. That was a good idea. Slowly, and carefully, he took one final glance around him and then leapt forward to throw his back against the trunk of the large tree to his left. 

_ crash! _

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck me,” Hawkeye cried, falling backwards onto the ground and scrambling to get back up pushing himself further and further backwards searching for the tree that must be there —

“Stop!” A clear, loud voice rang out. 

“BJ?” Hawkeye asked. He couldn’t see anybody. He didn’t move. His arms seemed impossibly tangled in vines. 

“Hawk!” BJ responded immediately. “Don’t touch anything. Don’t move. I’m coming to you.”

“What?”

“It’s a Sherwood Forest,” BJ told him. Hawkeye sighed.  _ Fine _ , he could admit it, he wasn’t doing well without BJ. He was glad BJ showed up, even if BJ’s quest to woo his true love was probably going to get Hawkeye killed. 

“I know the path,” a different voice said. It was a woman. Not BJ. Hawkeye furrowed his eyebrows. 

“What?”

“I know the path. I’ve been here awhile. I know the Lands. Come,” she beckoned. 

Something inside Hawkeye hesitated. “What’s your name?”

“Just come, you moron,” the woman insisted, “we don’t have a lot of time.” Then she waved her hand, seemingly at nothing. Immediately, Hawkeye could see the way out of the forest.

“No,” he told her and crossed his arms, settling back onto his haunches. 

The witch waved her hand again and both she and the path vanished. “The trees will eat you,” she told him, exasperated. “They will devour your flesh. Because the trees move. That’s what a Sherwood forest is. It isn't a real forest, it’s a roving troupe of cannibalistic, moving trees.”

“Is that cannibalism, though? If they eat people and not trees? Isn’t that more carnivorous?” Hawkeye asked. 

“Yeah,” BJ agreed. “Cannibalistic trees wouldn’t be much of a threat. They’d just eat themselves.” 

“Are you serious?” the voice asked. “Is that really what’s important right now? Fine, you’ll be eaten by carnivorous trees. Happy?”

“No!” Hawkeye objected, affronted. “I don’t want to be eaten by any trees! Why would you think that would make me happy?”

The path reappeared. “Then come with me! Look,” the witch continued when Hawkeye still didn’t move, paralyzed between BJ and the mysterious voice. “I can help you. I’ve met other stars before.”

“Don’t go with her,” BJ said. “Hawkeye, that could be dangerous -- you don’t even know her name!” 

“Trapper?” Hawkeye asked urgently. “Do you know him?”

“Yes.”

“And then chain?” He pressed. “You can break it?”

“I’ll break the chain,” BJ promised. “As soon as you meet Peg, I’ll break it and you can go home --”

“If you aren’t devoured by then, yes,” the witch, for that was of course what she must be, assured him. 

“Hawkeye!” He could hear BJ yelling. “Hawkeye, you can’t leave with her! I -- Peg -- you can’t! We’re so close to Wall! I promised you -- I’ll get you home Hawkeye, I swear --”

Hawkeye didn’t wait any longer in plunging down the path after the witch. His stomach ached and he thought that he’d take an enema if that would get him away from the way BJ said Peggy’s name. 

Margaret frowned to herself. It might be harder than she thought to kill this one. But the fate of Faery depended on it -- the fates of her sisters too. She had never failed to be able to do what needed to be done. And she wouldn’t fail this time. 

* * *

  
  


**vii. the boy on the path; or, a return**

BJ sat by the side of the road, afraid of approaching the Sherwood Forest again. He kept calling out Hawkeye’s name, but deep down, he knew Hawkeye was with the strange woman. There was no way he could catch Hawkeye. And there was no way he could return to Peg empty handed. 

But for whatever reason, the worst part of the whole thing was that Hawkeye had chosen to try his luck with a complete stranger over BJ. Why didn’t Hawkeye trust him? Besides the chaining and the walking and the questing?Okay, so BJ knew why Hawkeye didn’t want to trust him but -- BJ couldn’t go back to Wall without a star. He’d be humiliated and his parents -- and everyone -- they’d be right about him. 

And who was this Trapper Hawkeye mentioned? Why did Hawkeye care about  _ him?  _

So he sat by the side of the road cursing himself and he was still sitting there all alone when a man in a carriage appeared out of nowhere, a confused look on his face. 

“Who are you? Where are we? Are you sent by my brothers?” were the man’s first questions, in immediate succession. 

“I’m BJ Thorn. I don’t really know where we are, but if you knew where you wanted to go, I could probably tell you.” BJ answered easily. “And no one sent me. I’m on a quest for my One True Love.”

The man looked at him like he was an idiot. “What? Are you stupid? What century do you think you’re living in?”

BJ frowned. “It’s Love,” he repeated, frustrated that no one else could grasp the enormity of his emotion. 

The man rolled his eyes. “Do I know you? I was on a path to — it’s not important. Actually, it’s very important but not something your pee brain would have even the slightest chance of understanding. I was on a path, then I saw you and you pulled me off it.”

“Um, sorry?” BJ said. 

“So you don’t know me?”

BJ shook his head. “Should I?” He asked. 

“I’m the future Power of Stormhold,” the man said, slowly, which made BJ stiffen his shoulders, annoyed. Then, when that failed to produce the appropriate aount of awe: “Charles Emerson Winchester III.” He stuck out a hand. BJ looked at it for a minute, and then Charles quickly withdrew it. 

“Stormhold?” BJ asked. 

“Yes. The kingdom. Where are you from?”

“Wall,” BJ said. 

Charles Emerson Winchester III’s eyes widened. “Really?” He asked. “Wall? You’ve left Wall? Why in the hell would you do that?”

“For Love,” BJ reminded him, a little irritated. 

“And how’s that working out for you?” Charles Emerson Winchester III asked, cocking an eyebrow. 

“Wonderfully,” BJ replied defensively. “I found the star —“

“You found the star?” Charles Emerson Winchester III interrupted. 

“— yes the star I was bringing for my beloved -“

“— that explains why I was pulled of the witch-lady’s path —“

“— Peg Forrester —“

“Enough of that,” Charles Emerson Winchester III snapped his fingers. “Where’s the star now?” 

“He ran away,” BJ told Charles Emerson Winchester III moodily. 

“You don’t have him?”

“No.”

“You had the star? And then you let him go?”

“That’s what I said.” BJ nodded sharply. 

Charles Emerson Winchester III slumped against his horse. “Then,” he said, dramatically, “you’ve as good as signed my death warrant.”

“What?” BJ asked skeptically. 

Charles Emerson Winchester III shrugged. “I’ve made a dangerous gamble and if you are not the star, and you do not have the star, it does not look like it is going to pay off well. Quite frankly put, I am afraid I will soon be one of the dearly departed. The star had -- something. The Power of Stormhold.”

“I thought that was you,” BJ replied. 

For the first time, Charles Emerson Winchester III started to look embarrassed. “It will be,” he told BJ. “When I find that star. And get that necklace.” He paused. “Or, it would’ve been me. Had you” he turned an acusing finger on BJ, “not lost him!” 

“Now, hang on,” BJ said, starting to stand, “I might be able to find the star.”

“How?” Charles Emerson Winchester III asked. 

“My biggest problem was that I didn’t have any way to travel. I can’t catch up to the star, even if I could figure out where he was going.” Charles Emerson Winchester III nodded. “And you have this carriage with five freaking horses! So let’s fucking go, man! Let’s go into towns, ask people some questions. Follow this path you were on or whatever. I know what the star looks like, so I’ll be a big help.”

Charles Emerson Winchester III regarded him suspiciously. It looked like he wanted to ask him many more questions starting with ‘did my brothers’ and ending with ‘send you’ but he didn’t utter them. “Why would you help me?” he said instead and it looked like it took a real force of will. 

“I want the star to give to my True Love,” BJ always made sure he put the capitals in, “as a sign of my devotion. But you don’t really want the star, you just want what it has. So I get the star, you get the Power of Stormhold.” BJ looked down for a minute, reciting an answer that no longer felt true. “Besides,” he said. “I like helping people.” That, at least, felt true, even if Charles Emerson Winchester III gave a disbelieving snort at that.

“I don’t really know where any towns are,” was Charles Emerson Winchester III’s next objection. 

“Luckily for you,” BJ said, attempting to wink, “I’ve got a bit of a knack for that sort of thing.”

“I don’t suppose,” replied Charles Emerson Winchester III, suspicion starting to fade, “that I have anything to lose here.”

“No,” BJ said cheerfully. “Only your life. That makes it a real quest, you know.” He tilted his head sideways. “Why do your relatives want to kill you, anyway?”

“It’s how it works in my family. You kill or you're killed. The killer becomes the Power of Stormhold. The killed become his ghostly advisors. It’s all very standard around here, but I guess it wouldn’t be for you, being from the Wall and all.” Charles Emerson Winchester III didn’t sound like he thought highly of things that were standard or of the Lands outside Wall. 

BJ thought it over. “That’s not too bad then, is it?” he said eventually. 

“Come again?”

“That’s not too bad a deal,” BJ said. “I mean, it could be much worse, couldn’t it? You get to come back as a ghost, right?” He peered at Charles Emerson Winchester III’s defeated figure. “How’s that work, anyway?”

Charles Emerson Winchester III shrugged. “There’s a witch-lady who sells her wares by the coast. A very long time ago, a King — back then, the ruler of stormhold was called a King and not a Power — a King had a lost sister and he wanted to find her. So he begged a favor from the witch-lady that he could find the ghost of his brothers and sisters.”

“And?” BJ leaned in. “Did he find her?”

Charles Emerson Winchester III shrugged. “Witch-lady’s never do anything without a trick. I would expect even one as common as yourself to know  _ that  _ at least.” BJ’s stomach twisted painfully at the thought of Hawkeye and the strange woman. “He never found his sister. And we’ve all been left to fight over who gets the Power and who ends up a ghost ever since. So. You see. It was no real magic, just a curse she had tricked him into.”

“You don’t sound happy about it.”

“I’m not.”

“Why?” BJ asked. 

“I like life. I dislike magic too much. It has it’s uses, it is a mere trick that not only conceals but stripes life from any semblance of true meaning. Music, for example, is something that might be deemed magical but some but which escapes the definition through beauty, understanding and the promise of truth with escape. Furthermore, death is death and life is life and I don’t want the two to mix. And I’m worried about fading. In death, your brothers, your family, your reward or your rest wait. When you become a ghost, you don’t die. You just fade away. As if you never were.”

“I see what you mean,” BJ said, subdued. “You’re right. It’s more of a curse than a blessing.”

“It would end,” Charles Emerson Winchester III said, “if the long lost sister could return.”

“Is she still alive?” BJ asked. 

“She must be.”

“But she’s human? Like me?”

Charles Emerson Winchester III’s face was tired and worn. “These are our rumors and our myths and our tales. No one is just human in myths. Many people think she was wrongfully stolen by my family from the Fae and the witch-lady’s curse is a fitting punishment.”

“That,” BJ said clearly, “is awful.”

Charles Emerson Winchester III shrugged. “It’s life in Stormhold.”

“I’m sorry,” BJ said sincerely. “And I’m sorry for whatever role I’ve played in delaying you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Charles Emerson Winchester III replied. “Sometimes …” but he didn’t finish his thought. He trailed off, looking at the sky. Then he turned intently back to BJ. “The witch-lady never lies. Where is the nearest town?”

Instead of answering, BJ lifted his arm in the air and waited for it to settle on a location. It ended up pointing straight through the meadow on their left. Charles Emerson Winchester III’s expression cleared. 

“Hop in,” he said. “I need to get to that star. He holds the power of stormhold.”

BJ hopped in without thinking twice about it. Charles Emerson Winchester III smiled. BJ, he thought, was definitely of Wall. Everyone from Stormhold knew that magic always had a price and BJ never even thought to ask what it might be. Evidently the boy had taken nothing from his story or was desperate or arrogant enough to ignore it. 

He would let this boy lead him to the star and then he would decide what to do with him. To let BJ take this star across the Wall would be murder and anyway, the star would give them the power to make a real lasting sort of peace with the witch-lady and her coven. BJ was a foolish boy in love but soon, Charles Emerson Winchester III would be a king. And he would have people to care for. To let the star just die, change into a useless lump of rock as he crossed the Wall, would be too much of a waste.

* * *

**viii. A detour of unfortunate proportions; or a star, a trap, and a moment of levity**

The forest around Hawkeye faded with every step he took towards the starnger. It filled him with something altogether too similar to  _ relief _ to be entirely comfortable. It felt uncomfortable under his skin, this apparent improvement in his situation. It made him uneasy. 

“Why did you help me?” he asked the second they were completely clear of the trees. Suspicious he might be, but suicidal he most definitely was not. 

“Talk about a load of gratitude,” the young woman asked. “What about out of the kindness of my heart? Would you believe that?”

“No,” Hawkeye said immediately. 

The corners of the woman’s mouth turned up. “My name is Major Houlihan. I’m an innkeeper nearby. I like to keep an eye on my woods. And,” she added, pointedly, “drum up some business for my Inn.”

“I don’t have any money,” Hawkeye said flatly. “So I guess you can just leave me here.”

The strange woman faltered. “You don’t have any money?” she asked. 

Hawkeye felt better. Greed. This made sense to him. “Sorry,” he told Major Houlihan, and for a moment felt genuinely bad. She had, after all, saved his life. 

“Then,” Major Houlihan spoke up, much to Hawkeye’s surprise, “you shall work your debt off.”

“What?” Hawkeye objected. “No, I won’t!”

“Young man,” Major Houlihan said, “you are in the Lands and you owe me a life-debt. Choices have power in the Lands.”

Hawkeye froze. “The Lands? That’s an old name. How long have you been here? How do you know the rules of the Lands? Are you a Fae?”

Major Houlihan barked out a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous, boy. Legends and stories last a long time in these parts.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Hawkeye pointed out, suspicion still clear in his eyes. 

“A lady never reveals her age,” Major Houlihan replied. “Now, come.”

“Can’t we rest a moment?” Hawkeye complained plaintively, still wary of going with Major Houlihan — not that he had much of a choice. It’s possible he could have thought this through better. “My leg’s broken.”

He could see that have some sort of effect on Major Houlihan. She looked conflicted and like she wanted to help but wasn’t sure if she should. For the first time, Hawkeye began to wonder if he had misjudged her. But eventually, she shook her head and beckoned him forward. 

Hawkeye limped at a slow pace behind the woman over a few hills as they rapidly approached an old looking Inn. It sat in the middle of nowhere, looking much worse for the wear. 

“People don’t come by so often anymore,” Major Houlihan told him apologetically. “I spend a great deal of time alone.” And then Hawkeye understood. And softened. Because Major Houlihan was just alone here. And he was alone in the forest. She’d saved him because, more than anything, she just wanted company. Hawkeye thought he understood her, maybe better than even BJ. 

He could trust her, he decided right then and there. Besides, she’d known  _ Trapper _ .

They entered the door together, Major Houlihan going first and holding it open for Hawkeye to limp through and walked over to a spare table where Hawkeye sunk gratefully into a seat. 

“How did you break your leg?” Major Houlihan said. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

“I fell,” Hawkeye said and refused to say more on the subject. 

“And what are you doing alone in the woods?”

“I could say the same for you,” Hawkeye snapped back and then immediately regretted it as he watched the way Major Houlihan’s face completely shut down. “I mean — I didn’t mean that --“ but he didn’t know what to say after that. 

But eventually, Major Houlihan spoke up. “I had a family, once. Many, many sisters. They are still alive. But they are dying. And I will do anything to help them. Even if that means I live alone in a dying Inn searching for answers and money. That is what I am doing alone in the woods. I go there every day, looking for people I can take to the Inn or people who can help cure their illness.”

Hawkeye wanted to ask more questions but he sensed that she wouldn’t answer them. 

Suddenly, Major Houlihan turned to him. “Are you happy, traveler?”

Hawkeye hesitated. “I am alone,” he said. 

“Ah,” she said, concealing the pang she felt. This might be easier than even she expected. “Then I understand. Come. Let me bathe you, and then we will look at that leg of yours.”

Hawkeye acquiesced, following the innkeeper upstairs. It felt nice, he thought, sinking into the hot bath she drew for him, to relax. He hadn’t relaxed since he fell. BJ was always there and talking to him and telling him about Peg, his One True Love, which Hawkeye hated. He made them keep moving, keep going. Hawkeye hated that, too, even if he didn’t think he hated BJ at all. Hawkeye was so fucking tired of moving, so fucking tired of constantly being on guard, so fucking tired of rushing to his death. Even BJ’s kindness couldn’t take away the loss Hawkeye felt out of the sky, grounded.

So he sunk into the bath. And he thought, briefly, of the dangers of relaxing in the Lands. And he didn’t know if he cared. Did it matter? BJ said he would get Hawkeye home but no one made it back to the sky. Well, no one but Trapper and Trapper didn’t even get back to Hawkeye. What was the point of even getting back to the sky, without Trapper? 

Hawkeye closed his eyes, let the tension slip from his body and slipped underneath the water. Once he was completely submerged in the warm bath water, Hawkeye opened his eyes. Through the murky, watery lense, he could see Major Houlihan above him, the silver taps glinting almost threateningly. His lungs began to burn. The ceiling seemed so high, so dark. Strangely vaulted. It looked ancient. Hawkeye supposed Major Houlihan had been here for a while but the for the first time, he started to wonder how long, exactly. 

And a chill shifted down his spine, in spite of the bath and the warmth. 

Gasping, Hawkeye burst from the bath, shaking the water and unease off of him. Major Houlihan bundled him up into a towel and brought him to a second room where she led him to a bed and began to rub his shoulders. Slowly, she worked her way down to his injured leg. 

“Wait here,” she told him. 

A few minutes later, she was back. She carried in her hands a small jar of foul smelling lotion and started to spread it on Hawkeye’s leg. It stung, at first, and then felt so nice. Hawkeye smiled. He didn’t notice it, but for the first time since the forest, Hawkeye had started to glow again, brighter than he’d glowed since Falling from the sky.

Against his better judgement, Hawkeye closed his eyes and slipped off into a dreamless sleep. A few minutes later, he was gently shaken awake by the innkeeper, this time with a bowl of soup. 

“Here,” she said. “My speciality. You shouldn’t go to sleep on an empty stomach. After you eat, then you can sleep. You can sleep for as long as you’d like, here.”

Gratefully, Hawkeye took the soup. His body glowed brighter and brighter with each bite he took. 

* * *

  
  
**ix. swordfish and sword-fighting: a witch, a star and a fool meet in the quadrangle at midnight rapiers drawn**

Meanwhile, BJ was bonding with the Power-to-be Charles Emerson Winchester III. They were playing a game of jacks, while the horses galloped onward and outward. As night approached, however, they began to quarrel. 

“We have to continue,” BJ insisted. “I only have a month left to get the Star back to my One True Love, Peg.”

“The horses cannot continue at this pace. We must stop.”

This continued, in much the same vein, for several hours, to the point where a bystander might’ve come to the conclusion that perhaps the men liked arguing and were, in fact, enjoying the easy back and forth that didn’t make demands on their intellect. 

Regardless, the debate, argument or conversation reached a sudden stop when they approached the inn of Major Houlihan. 

“It is my carriage, and we are stopping.”

“Alright,” BJ agreed easily, for he knew that Charles Emerson Winchester III had a point about the horses needing rest. And even if he changed his mind, it wouldn’t be too much work to steal Charles Emerson Winchester III’s horses and carriage. 

Charles Emerson Winchester III knocked on the door. 

Inside the house, a witch getting older by the second, minutes away from cutting the heart out of a sad and lonely star, cursed. But she came to the door. 

When she saw who was outside, her eyes widened. “M’lord.”

“Not quite yet,” Charles Emerson Winchester III corrected her. “May we spend the night here?”

Major Houlihan's lips tightened. “Alright,” she said briskly. “But your boy there must stay in the stables. I don’t have the space.”

A king she could trust to say nothing when she slit the throat of a star. This peasant, though, would not understand that horror sometimes had to be undertaken for the good of the people. 

“But --”

Major Houlihan waved a hand in the air, silencing BJ. He gaped, moving his jaw, but words wouldn’t come out. 

Charles Emerson Winchester III looked alarmed. 

“It will last but the next twenty minutes,” she assured him. “Now, come, my Lord, for we have things to discuss.”

Charles Emerson Winchester III agreed, handing the reins of the horses to BJ. “You will sleep in the barn. I’m sorry.” He looked genuinely contrite, but that didn’t stop the rush of humiliation that rolled in BJ’s guts. Scowling, he took the horses all the way back outside, determined to steal off with Charles Emerson Winchester III’s carriage. 

He even went so far as to get into the driver’s seat before he stopped. Charles Emerson Winchester III was a kind man. He helped BJ. He helped BJ when he didn’t have to. When he didn’t want to. When he had no reason to. BJ couldn’t betray him. He took the horses back to the barn, washed them down, and settled down to sleep.

Then his stomach rumbled. He tossed onto his side. He squeezed his eyes shut. He counted sheep. 

And then he moved, discomforted, out of bed. He could barely keep his eyes closed. And he was starving. He hadn’t eaten since -- since lunch! Maybe the mean inn keeper would let him eat some scraps or something? 

He walked -- snuck -- into the inn where he could hear low voices. The first was Major Houlihan, telling someone that it was alright to sleep now. He heard the water running upstairs. That was probably Charles Emerson Winchester III, taking his bath. 

Then he heard the person reply. It sounded like Hawkeye’s voice. Was this -- had he found -- was it Hawkeye? BJ stepped forward softly, trying to stay out of sight. The inn keeper’s voice grew softer and BJ strained to hear it. It seemed to be some sort of prayer. 

BJ took one step closer, finally able to see Hawkeye, lying down on the table. 

And that’s when he saw the knife. “Hawkeye!”

Snarling, the innkeeper, Major Houlihan, turned to face him, snarling. He knew it had to be the innkeeper, but it no longer looked like her. She looked old and ugly. Her hair was gone. Her face was wrinkled. And there was blood on her hands. Screaming, she flung a bolt of energy at BJ. It missed and hit the tapestry behind him which erupted in flames. 

“Who are you?” He cried. 

“Older than you could possibly imagine,” she said, advancing. Her hands crackled. BJ looked around. Hawkeye still seemed groggy. If he could get to Hawkeye -- he fumbled around in his purse. 

Major Houlihan launched another bolt at him. He tried to move, but the light caught his arm, scoring deep into his bone. BJ ran, but as he did, Major Houlihan stayed between him and Hawkeye. This was it. BJ had to get out of here now. He turned to leave and then turned back. Hawkeye. 

It darted across his mind, for one shameful second, the idea of leaving Hawkeye to his face and choosing some random, beautiful rock to bring to Peg and tell her was the fallen star. 

But he took a breath and straightened his spine. He would die here. It was only too bad, he thought, that Peg would never know how much he loved her. That Hawkeye would die without ever getting home. 

“BJ!” He whirled around. The voice came from Charles Emerson Winchester III, standing at the bottom of the stairs. He tossed BJ a sword. 

BJ caught it. Barely. “Um,” BJ said, and charged the innkeeper. Major Houlihan shot another out her hand, this time at Charles. 

BJ ducked, instinctively, and then kept running. As he moved near her, the witch lifted her hand and pulled the sword out of the air towards her. BJ clung on as tightly as he could, Hawkeye just behind the witch. She cast one more bolt right at the ground in front of BJ and BJ released the sword and rolled through the flames. Stop, drop and roll he remembered from classes. Fires were common in Village. BJ rolled and rolled and then popped up to see the witch no longer looking at him and looking at Charles Emerson Winchester III instead. 

He had a second sword. BJ rolled his eyes. Of course. 

BJ looked towards Hawkeye, but the last lightening bolt had not just separated BJ from his sword but had created a line between him and Hawkeye. “Hawk,” BJ said. 

“Beej!” Hawkeye shouted back. 

“Here!” BJ gestured to the line. They didn’t have much time. He and Charles Emerson Winchester III had discussed this, had discussed the danger of finding the star. They weren’t a team. They were a temporary alliance. He had to save Hawkeye. They could take care of the rest later. Charles could take care of himself. Charles Emerson Winchester III would have insisted on it, actually. 

“Hawkeye!” BJ yelled as softly as he could. It didn’t really work. He closed his eyes. He reached his hand into his sack and pulled out a candle burned nearly down to the end. He gripped it tightly in his fist. “Hawkeye!” he yelled, louder this time, gesturing more forcefully at the line of fire.

And this time, Hawkeye listened to him. BJ slowly opened his hands. It would have been satisfying, he thought, watching Hawkeye’s jaw drop open if they hadn’t been in mortal danger. As such, he barely had time to appreciate the moment before Hawkeye reached the walls of flames separating them. 

“Close your --” 

“Where?” Hawkeye interrupted. 

“Home,” BJ said, firmly. 

Hawkeye closed his eyes. And plunged his hand deep into the fire, unflinching. BJ closed his eyes and, candle gripped firmly, put his other hand around Hawkeye’s and thought of Wall. 

There was a painful burning for a second and then Hawkeye and BJ stepped forward together, hands tightly clutched around BJ’s Babylon Candle and everything jolted around BJ. 

When he opened his eyes, they were sitting on a cloud. 

**Author's Note:**

> um. very different than what i normally write. which is. humorous atla coming out stories. also this is one of like seven wip i have about hawk/beej but the only one ive managed to get drunk enough 2 start posting shkshhks so please let me know what you think? or just tell me how much you love stardust shkshskh


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